MEAT
by cardinalcampeius
Summary: Something's wrong with Eyeless Jack. (ej and jeff)
1. Chapter 1

There's something wrong with Eyeless Jack.

Jeff knows this. He's known it for a while, but it's not his business and most importantly not his problem. Why should he get his own panties in a twist if Jack's tweaking out more than usual this day or that day? Or not tweaking out at all? In fact, if he can remember well, the poor sod sometimes just stares at nothing, frozen in place. Jeff could have just dismissed it for normal EJ behavior (on the spectrum of Weird and Fucking Annoying) but then when the white-faced killer asked jokingly, Jack only twitched and apologized.

"You're gettin' twitchy 'cause you ain't had a meal in a while," Jeff had snickered, turning away from him to rummage through an empty pantry inside the Mansion's depths.

Jack had said nothing. Growing impatient, Jeff had spoke up again, a little more edge to his voice. "Or did some idiot decide to wake up in the middle of your little surgeries?" No answer. When Jeff had turned around again empty-handed Jack was bent over, clutching his chest and where his stomach should be (Jeff doubted he had any of those organs to begin with), and very suddenly a tentacle shot out toward a railing outside the doorway and his body was slingshot over it. He had disappeared inside the blackness of the Mansion without a trace. Left Jeff standing there puzzled and feeling like a dumbass.

That was, what, a couple weeks ago? He never had a good grasp on time but he could track it passively with the leaves changing colors, with the leaves dying, with the weather growing colder. Too cold for his liking, in-fucking-fact. He stomps up a dusty footpath through the forest, not in the mood to take the noisier shortcut to his destination , although he _was_ crunching a leaf every now and then with a grand satisfaction, blowing a strand of hair away from his eyes with a puff of air.

Further up ahead a break in the continuity of the path appears and Jeff freezes instantly, grinning; sometimes there are hikers and tourists wandering the trails and they're always easy picking. He slinks behind the safety of a tree and stares, the details coming into focus. Someone laying on the ground. Weird, but not too weird. He approaches slowly, hands forming like claws at his sides before he remembers the knife in his jacket pocket. It's in his right hand moments later and his fingers buzz wrapped around the handle. Yes, this is how it's meant to be.

Something's wrong with the body.

First of all: There's a noticeable blood trail, leading jaggedly to the right into the forest. Second (maybe he should have listed this first): The body's shirt is pulled up, exposing a gaping wound on the left side of their abdomen, blood seeping and adding to the trail. Most apparent, though, are the lines of stitches around and on the wound, hastily done and wandering farther off onto the skin like some inane tattoo design. But it makes nothing Jeff can see, just wild paths leading in frantic directions until they fizzle out completely.

Only EJ could have done this, but at the same time it's nothing Jeff can think of him doing.

He nudges the body with a boot. Unresponsive. Probably dead. The blood trail is a bright red ribbon beckoning him to its source but Jeff's not going to open that can of fucking worms. EJ doesn't usually drag bodies all the way out to the woods, does he? Seems pretty against his code of stealth and precision and whatever the fuck, Jeff thinks bitterly, stepping over the body. Usually he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to piss the hooded freak off but this feels different, alien. Even he wants to get out of there. Someone else can find it. It's not his problem.

Later, at the mansion, dragging himself in and sniffing. The imposing wooden doors boom shut behind him. Empty. Home sweet fucking home. The Slenderman hasn't come near this place in a while and that's just fine for Jeff. When nobody's around the building is even less welcoming but in the past forever his senses have been dulled to it, and besides, he's been unpleasantly surprised more than once when he thought he was alone.

...Like right now. The front parlor is empty but down a hallway in front of him a door comes ajar, opening only slightly. The resounding creak of the hinges echoes down the hallway. Nothing else follows. "Jack?" Jeff doesn't know why that name specifcally comes to him - it could be anyone - but whatever the reason he's already beelining for it.

He doesn't make it halfway. Something too fast and strong and many-limbed rams into him with incredible force and the world goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Jeff is conscious it doesn't come easy. He was having a pleasant dream about cotton candy and a river made of shiny tinfoil when life kicked him in the ass and told him it was time to wake up. The room comes into focus slowly, agonizingly, and when he's finally able to sit up he gets an eyeful of an abandoned study. The dizziness makes him giddy and he giggles at nothing. What the hell was that about? Then his brain decides to start processing pain and his abdomen bursts into stinging heat, pinpricks. Idly he slips a hand underneath his hoodie to scratch his stomach when his fingers come into contact with something foreign.

It's stitches.

He rapidly yanks his hoodie over his head, hikes up the threadbare t-shirt underneath, looks. Stitches, but not any he's ever se-yes he has. Yes he has. Oh, god! He laughs and snorts and rubs his cold nose with his other hand. It's the same ones as the body's in the woods. Fucking incredible. If EJ was going to sew something in him he could have at least picked a nice pattern, maybe an ugly christmas sweater. Jack's never made this kind of attack on him. Threatened it, of course, when they would argue and Jeff would interrupt him time and time again. Jeff was a brute, the monster would say, a careless fiend who lacks any real substance. As-fucking-if. Just thinking about it made his teeth gnash. If this was some sort of attempt at revenge then Jeff could play his game. But why the same pattern as the body in the forest? Why the patterns at all?

It makes no sense at all! He laughs again, then cuts himself short. Oh, no more funny business. When he finds EJ he'll make sure the freak won't do this to him ever again. After slipping his hoodie back on, he stands up shakily, gets his bearings, heads for the door. The knob is cold to the touch, along with everything else. When he turns the knob it stops him immediately. Locked.

EJ locked him inside the study. Jeff breathes out, staring at his brown hand cupped around the gold-colored doorknob, the dark varnished wood. He breathes in. He breathes out.

With great force he shoves his left shoulder into the door, turning the knob simultaneously, and when that doesn't work he takes a few steps back and plants his foot firmly in the door's center with a great clamorous thud. It doesn't budge. These ones are thick and strong and probably oak, or something, of course it wouldn't budge. EJ has locked him inside some dusty study and sewed some weird bullshit on him. "JACK," he screeches in a voice like sandpaper, the word reaching a high lilt. "What a GREAT JOKE you're playing! Really! Got me real good!" Jeff giggles and it's mirthless, still pressed against the door with all his might. "Real FUCKING good! Now come and unlock this FUCKING DOOR." No answer from the other side. Dead quiet where his voice once was. Slowly his hand drops to his side and he steps back from the door. Lidless eyes scan it, scan the light seeping in from underneath, see the two shadows of boots fron the other side. He's standing there, listening. "Peekaboo," he chimes, "I see yo-"

It's like nails down a chalkboard when his claws rake down the wood; Jeff recoils from it, grinning wildly. "Ssssstop," a voice slurs, a familiar one, "stttooop. Caaan't let you go. Not safe. Not-"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jeff laughs and slams his fist against to wall to make a noise other than that terrible scratching. "Not safe where? In the Mansion? Hate to break it to you, Jackie, but you're a little late with that one!"

No reply. This is an opportunity for him to press further.

"And thanks for the little gift you left me, too. Touched my heart! Saw what you did to the poor chick in the forest, too. How'd she get away? You're getting slack, EJ! Better pick up the pace!"

One long, rasping exhalation, or just the expelling of air from some unseen mouth under EJ's mask.

"Listen," Jeff says coolly, chuckling, voice dropping to a whisper. "Let me out of this study. Then we can have a nice chat about this over some tea and scones. Got it? I don't wanna hurt you, old buddy. Old pal. Old /friend/."

"I hhhurt."

"What?"

"I hhhurt. I hurt. I hurt."

"Gonna have to speak up."

"I hurt you. I will make you better."

Jeff stands in silence.

Footsteps sound, drawing away, fading down an unseen hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

He stands at the door until whatever spell that had cast him in iron breaks and then he moves away, turning toward the study. Like clockwork he begins searching, combing over what little there was in the room for a means of escape. A bobby pin, maybe, just something small and not easily broken would do to pick the lock. He searches through the desk on the north wall, runs a hand through the old bookshelf on the east wall, and when he comes up short he retires to the reading chair beside it. The stitches burn on his stomach when he hikes up his legs, folding them against his abdomen. There were no windows. Had EJ been planning on using this room? For how long? How fucking considerate of him to pick a room with a comfy chair in it so Jeff wouldn't get too tired of sitting his bony ass on a cold hardwood floor. How sweet.

A few minutes later, or perhaps maybe longer, having nothing to tell the time with, shuffling footsteps rake up the hall. He leans forward, clears his mind, listens. The gait is awkward and strange, nothing like EJ's, whose are strong and measured and precise. And then a knock at the door.

"Jeffrey? Are you there?" The voice has a feverish edge to it, but still nothing like earlier. He can't help but grin.

"I'm not at the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep."

"Ah, yes. Jeff. I appp..ologize for my strange behavior earlier. I.. haven't quite been feeling myself. I hope I didn't disturb you."

"Really? I haven't noticed." Malice drips from Jeff's tongue like poison. Jack doesn't acknowledge it. "By the way, just wondering, why don't you let me out of time-out if you've suddenly decided to be your normal self again, huh? I promise I'll be a good little boy. Pinkie promise!"

"No," he says tersely. "I cannot do that."

"And why," exhale, grin, "not?"

"You don't understand. You won't understand. I would apologize but I am not sorry. There is something wrong - something is wrong -" it was like the words pained him, "- and.. steps of caution must be taken."

"Gee, I appreciate the concern, really do, but I think I can fucking fend for myself. I'll just escape when you're not looking!" He isn't sure if he could, but saying it gave him a rush of power and he was starting to believe it.

Jack's voice fractures. "NO," he screeches, raking his claws down the door. "NO. I will sever your jugular before you could even set foot out of this door. I knew you could not understand. You must be quarantined - f-fixed - healed before it gets worse..."

That was the funniest part of it all. "HA!" Jeff slaps his knee, rising from the chair, black hair falling like a curtain in front of his face. What a laugh! What a joke! "Wow, aren't you all fucking high and mighty all of a sudden? I don't need fixing," he hisses, at the door. Peeking through the crack between the door and the wall got him nothing but a sliver of wallpaper. "I don't need healing or quarantining. I need you to open this fucking door."

He needs to kill. He needs it like an empty hole in his chest that needs to be filled, needs it in his teeth and his hands and in his skull, thrumming with it.

Jack says nothing. A standstill forms between them.

A tentacle, thinner than Jeff's finger, snakes through the crack and before Jeff can move away it wraps around his neck, his skin blotchy and discolored, and he is very still. "If you escape," Jack repeats, "I will kill you myself."

"Guess you'll have to."

The tentacle retreats back to its master, unseen behind the door, and the same footsteps with the same disordered gait shuffle down the hall and Jeff is alone. Three things enter his mind: one, that EJ was worse off than it seemed; two, his threats weren't empty; three, it was good Jeff never had to pee or he'd be fucked.

In the time it took for EJ to walk away Jeff had also realized something else: The Mansion was full of secret passages, hidden entryways. False walls and hollow floorboards; he'd discovered many and mapped them out in his head. He's never been in this study before, never seen it, but now he bets there could be the ticket to his escape hiding behind a bookshelf or a cleverly constructed wall panel. He pores about the room, the most obvious places first. The bookshelf is a pain in the ass to move but once he does he discovers.. nothing. Just slightly less faded wallpaper. Next is the west and north walls: all normal, all the same disgusting flowery wallpaper bullshit that he's getting real sick of real fast. EJ must have heard the noise; Jeff didn't hear him approaching but can see his shadow underneath the door. That's right, fucker. Just watch me.

He waits until they move away again to try the last place he can think of. Behind the chair. Trying to move it without the scrape of wood-on-wood takes work: a few inches, pause, wait, drag a few inches more, pause, swear quietly to self, think about how you're going to kill EJ when you get out of here, drag a few inches, until finally the chair sits in the middle of the room.

Delicately he places his ear against the east wall, for any difference in sound, for an echo, his knuckles tapping the wood. For a moment there is nothing, but, never discouraged, he finally finds the sweet spot, and it's like music to his ears. Finding the seam isn't difficult after that. His fingers, skin mottled and nails bit down neatly, trace the edge of the wall and pull with all his strength.

In a plume of dust motes and stale, ancient air the wall shifts violently to the left, exposing a darkened corridor.


	4. Chapter 4

In a flash moment of logic (of brilliance, if he were to be honest), he had waited, knowing Jack must be on high alert. Sat in the chair in the middle of his prison and let an hour tick by. The sounds of the mansion filled his ears and it was almost peaceful: creaking and groaning of wood, of metal. Interspersed, however, EJ's unknown activities continued onward, relentless. Ill shuffling of footsteps, mysterious thuds and thumps of something heavy. Jeff was going to figure out what the fuck was going on when he got out of here.

Not once did EJ approach the door again, absorbed in his own world. Good. Great. Just as Jeff had planned.

Now, carefully opening up the passageway again, does Jeff finally step through and is instantly bathed in darkness. He has learned not to question how some things in the mansion are physically possible, but even so the eerie wrongness of things sometimes makes him giddy. This tunnel is over twenty feet long and claustrophobic. He bends down slightly and shuffles along, ignoring the small bloom of wary discomfort in his chest.

The door on the other side opens much cleaner, quieter. Hidden well-oiled joints slide the wall panel back to reveal a darkened personal library, cast in deep shadows. Windows line the opposite wall, but even masked by thick curtains it's clear night has overtaken the world. He was out for hours. Standing there for ten minutes and listening intently reveals that even the alien sounds of EJ's work have stopped. Must have finally fucked off. Easier for Jeff.

He has two options: break out the window or escape through the front door, which would mean going through the mansion. One of these is the easiest and safest and also the most boring. One of these will satisfy the deadly curiosity bubbling in his gut and give him a fun adrenaline rush. Break the window. Escape through the mansion. Break the window... Turning away from his easy getaway ticket, he weaves around bookshelf after bookshelf for the door to the hallway. More listening. Nothing. The relief that swarms over him when the doorknob turns smoothly and the door pulls with his grip is enough to make him giggle. What an idiot EJ was, what a genius Jeff is! He could pat himself on the back right now! Nobody owns or fixes Jeff, or "heals" him! He doesn't need...

"Dios mio."

The halls are painted with black and red.

Everything's been trashed. Threads like spider webs suspend from the ceiling, hung there by countless needles. Whatever frames were hung on the walls now lay shattered and broken, lamps in pieces, end tables turned over and shoved away to make more room for the layers and layers of blood and paint that stretch from even the ceiling to the floor. Jeff takes a step out, mouth agape, half-smiling at the ridiculousness at it all, but there is a deep stirring of something terrible in a faraway place he has not touched for a reason.

The drawings. The patterns. He lifts the hem of his hoodie and shirt to check: yes, the same, all the same, wild and desperate and nearly impossible to decipher as anything but feverish markings. A look down to his right. It continues on past the corner. To his left. Mostly unfinished. Handprints, splatters of black and red. He moves to touch the black on the opposite wall and finds here it is still shining and wet, fresh. His fingers come back stained. Sticky. Fucking gross...

An image, clear as if he were standing there, of EJ's mask is brought forth in his mind's eye. The thick, black tar leaking from the eyes, that Jeff had commented on time and time again ("Your mascara running?"). Then, his fingers, held out like a claw in front of him.

All he can do is laugh.


	5. US

Have to move. If he can just put some space between him and the freak he'd be home free. To the left, quickly, ignore the half-eaten body deposited to the side, don't slip on the wet blood. And the question that repeats over and over in his brain until it's the only sound he can hear is how? Why? Why? What the fuck? Had he finally gone completely batshit? Jeff doesn't care. What he cares about is getting as much distance between this ridiculous nightmare and himself as humanly possible. Maybe once he was outside he'd do something about these stitches, which are still burning in his skin, red and inflamed.

"Jeffffrrrey."

The voice is distant, and instantly Jeff whips around, grinning, poised to dodge or counter if EJ makes his moves. He doesn't give him a chance to speak. "Nice art project," Jeff hisses, strafing to the right. His wings are clipped without his knife. EJ has a slight limp, something dangling from a thread hanging around his neck. Hard to make out, but it's a key. A skeleton key. "What's it for? Your elementary school art class? Wouldn't it just be terrible if I fucked it all up?" His hand presses against the slick surface of the wall, wiping down, slicing away a chunk of writing. Is it writing?

"Told you I would escape," Jeff snickers, furthering his destruction, moving toward EJ, who is silent. "So now what? You said you would kill me. Hop to it! Don't have all fucking day, you know!"

"Wwwon't be necessary. This was…" His body shudders once like a dying animal before he continues again, and Jeff, for just a moment, holds his breath. "…temporary. I have found a mmmmore permanent arrangement for you. Ffforrr us." Out of everything the monster sounds…tired. Hollow. When he begins moving toward Jeff it is strange and mechanical as if he's being pulled along by strings. Tentacles bubble and slide out of his back, grasping the threads hanging down as he moves. Simultaneously Jeff edges backward, never daring to turn away.

"Gee, is it our honeymoon already? I'd really like to go but first I gotta ask something that was on my innocent little mind. While I was stuck in time out." EJ doesn't respond. Or perhaps he can't. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I ccan..cannot explain at this time. If you come peacefully, it would be better for all of us. I do not wish to hurt you. It is not my intention; we are allies."

"When'd you get /that/ in your head?" He snickers. "If /anything/-"

He's cut off short by the whip of a tentacle toward him and that's all he needs to start running.

The only sounds in the entire mansion are his boots pounding the floor, of his breath hissing through his teeth, the air whistling behind him as tentacles sharp as knives slice through the air. EJ pursues him doggedly, unfaltering, and the deadly calm of it would terrify Jeff if he were not Jeff the Killer. Jeff is, however, smart enough to know when to run and when to fight, and now he chooses to run. He rounds a corner, skidding, doesn't look back. Legs pumping, laughing, chugging stale dead air, and when something grabs his ankle and yanks he can't stop his momentum from sending him crashing and spiraling to the ground, and Eyeless Jack makes sure he will not be able to rise again.

There is no hint of exhaustion in the monster's voice. "I did not wish to take you by force, but you leave me no choice, Jjjjeffffrey."

The tendrils have an impossibly strong grip on his legs, his hands. When Jeff smiles it's with all his teeth. "If you wanna make this a fight, I'm more than fucking happy to play along! Hahaha!"

"Stop sssstruggling." EJ shuffles past him, smudges of blue and black and red in the corner of Jeff's vision. The tendrils yank him like a leash. "Stand." Jeff stands, teeth grit. A tendril, sharp and cold, touches the back of his neck. A threat of instant death if Jeff makes the wrong move. He snickers.

"What was that bullshit about hurting me? I seem to remember you acting like you were sorry. That went away real fucking fast, didn't it?"

EJ is walking. Jeff is walking behind him, bound and would probably be gagged soon if he didn't shut his mouth. But oh, it was sickeningly satisfying to watch EJ squirm. "I did not have clear rrr…" A series of guttural noises emit from him and he shudders, limps for a few steps, returns to his normal gait. There is something earnest and rushed in his tone, as if EJ were begging him not with his words but how they were said. "I have not helped you. I believe that — if I can help you, yes, you'll be spared the worst of it. Why you?"

It sounds like an honest question but Jeff is nowhere near in the mood to humor him. EJ looks over his shoulder, the black liquid always dripping. "…You should be thanking us."

Before Jeff can open his mouth the tendril at his neck wraps around and around and around his face and all he tastes is something bitter and cold.

EJ lead him through the woods. The path was winding and through every step Jeff was restrained. He attempted to escape several times, all with the same outcome; the tendrils tightening their hold until he thought his bones would break in two. EJ wasn't joking. That was good. This made it more fun. Every so often the creature would stop and stare into the distance, growl, hiss at nothing, shake his head, shudder once or twice. It was a funeral procession toward some grave of his Jeff would settle down in happily only to rise the next full moon alive and ravenous.

The end of their destination is in sight and Jeff, hands tied behind his back, mumbles something into his gag. They are in a neighborhood, or might have once been a neighborhood, now reduced to piles of glass and wood, metal skeletons arcing into the sky, the forest slowly reclaiming them. The road, buckled and cracked like an ancient tired backbone, leads to a highway. A car whizzes by in the distance. How long had EJ planned this? How long?

There is only one house standing. EJ is beelining for it, nearly dragging Jeff along, and already he can see the windows boarded and the house bleached and withered by sun and rain and nature and wind. There are two stories. Home sweet home. They step up the cracked walkway, and Jeff makes one last attempt to break free, jerking his limbs out suddenly, pulling away with all his strength, barking a stream of laughter.

Eyeless Jack has lost his patience.

The tendrils loosen and for a second, Jeff believes he's won and he's home free — he's won and he'll kill EJ, he'll rip the bastard apart with his bare hands if he has to — suddenly there's no air, there's no air and his throat is crushed under the strength of a dozen ropes, dragging him through the front door  
>as he screams he's choking and laughing and screaming<br>dragging him through the hall to a padlocked door  
>dragging him down down down a flight of stairs<br>the shriek of metal on metal, the sick shuffling of limping legs  
>spots in his vision and blood in his throat<br>and the last thing he sees is EJ at the top of the basement stairs and then it is cold and very, very dark.


End file.
